A/N: Red Moon blew my mind. Literally. There was just way too much going on. Not going to discus as to not spoil those who haven't seen it yet, but when you do, try to keep up. As for this fic, just another short piece where I torture Lisbon a little bit and... Well you're just going to have to read it now don't you. Thank you to all of my anonymous reviewers, favouriters and those who have been stalwart supporters of my work. You guys are fabulous and I adore each of every one of you. Enjoy!
Spoilers: None!
Disclaimer: My name is Rach (insert 'Hi Rach' from audience) and I'm not the owner of the Mentalist.
Win
Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon shot and killed a kid today. Put a bullet through his head. He couldn't have been much older than she was when her father died. What makes a teenage boy stab his mother to death and then subsequently hold a gun to his younger sister's head? She had no idea. Quite frankly, she didn't want to know. From all accounts he was a normal kid. Well adjusted. Nice. Normal, well adjusted, nice boys didn't commit murder. Or so she thought.
With a heavy sigh, she stared at her own weapon lying innocuously on her desk. Internal affairs deemed the shooting by the book. By the book. The hell it was. Without even thinking, she reached for the bottom drawer and poured enough tequila for two shots. She wrapped a hand around the cool surface of the tumbler, hesitating for a moment. The last couple of weeks had consisted of a string of dead ends, one after another. Cases piling up like a horrific car crash on the I6 during rush hour traffic. Morale was low. This was supposed to be a victory. A win. The team desperately needed a win. She desperately needed a win.
She knocked back the golden liquid with the expertise of a pro. Evidently, the apple didn't fall far from the tree. The tired cliché caused a bitter laugh to escape from her lips.
She was fixing herself another drink when she heard it. The distinctive sound of shattering glass. Abandoning her open bar for one, she briskly made her way through the bullpen. The first thing she noticed was his bowed head of curls. The second was blood. She rushed to his side, immediately examining the gash across his palm.
"I'm fine," he insisted, attempting to tug his hand from her tight grasp.
Her grip remained firm as she gently cleared a rather large green shard from the wound.
"Stay put," she ordered.
Straightening, she walked over to the first aid kit and retrieved gauze, tape and hydrogen peroxide. She worked quietly and efficiently. It felt all too old-hat. Bringing back memories she promptly suppressed. When she finished dressing the wound, she turned to clean up what was left of the porcelain teacup scattered across the floor.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
She watched as he eased himself down onto his couch, cradling his injured hand close to his chest.
"I guess my tea is ruined," he quipped nonchalantly.
"I can make you another."
"Don't be ridiculous. Sit."
"Why?"
"Because. I'm going to cheer you up."
"Is that right?"
"I'm better than tequila. Sit."
She glared at him, but reluctantly took a seat beside him.
"You know if you decide your career as a state agent isn't fulfilling anymore, you can always be a nurse," he paused before adding, "or a dog."
"This is your way of cheering me up?"
Grinning, he shook his head. She stared at him curiously as he scooted closer to her. Her eyes widened as he leaned in before his head ended up against her shoulder. She blamed her lack of a reaction on her slightly inebriated state. But she immediately relaxed, feeling the warmth of his cheek bleed through the thin material of her blouse. She sunk into the worn leather and shifted slightly so she could lay her own head atop his soft curls.
"If I get a kink in my neck, it's your fault," she muttered.
She felt him chuckle as a hint of a smile formed across her lips. This wasn't a real win. But for now, it was better than nothing at all.
Fin for now, Jello forever